


Fire and Flame

by Of_Titles_And_Names



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Drug Use, Implied Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Kidnapping, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:05:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Titles_And_Names/pseuds/Of_Titles_And_Names
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Au: Everyone has powers, but not everyone is too keen to tell theirs.</p><p>John Watson has lived with Sherlock for six months.  Six months, and he still doesn't know his flate mate's powers.  Murders are occurring, and not just the regular.  Superpower related. Naturally, everyone suspects Sherlock.</p><p>======================================</p><p>Hey this is my first fic for the Sherlock fandom, and I'm still a relatively new writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I had to submit this four times, because it wouldn't let me preview. So sorry if there's any mistakes.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street."

 

John has lived with Sherlock for over six months. Not once, has he ever found the answer of what Sherlock's power was. Each person in the world had a power. Most people's powers were simple, harmless things, like being able to breathe underwater or being able to feel others emotions. Simple, harmless things. John's power, well, John's powers were rare according to statistics. 0.009% of humans on earth had his power. Even then, most ended up dying early on, unable to handle the force of their powers. But John was strong, and in control. He was able to control is power early on. He was able to control fire. But it was John's secret.

John was sitting in the flat, the sunlight shining afternoon soon through the windows. It had been an uneventful day. They had received only one client, which Sherlock dismissed within minutes.

"Sherlock?" John closed his book. He was sitting on the couch, reading a book titled The Final Promblem.

"Yes?" Sherlock looked up from a microscope.

"You know, after six of months of living with you-,"

"Not this again John, we had this conversation a week ago," He went back to examining the deteriorating rate of blood.

"Yes," He gritted his teeth,"But you never answered my question,"

"I have already, and it was a reminder we had this conversation,".

"Yes, but-"

A phone buzzed, cutting through the silence.

"Can you get that for me? It's my phone," Sherlock said, as if the conversation had never happened.

"Where is it?"

"Left inner pocket,"

Sighing, John managed to get the phone out of his pocket. He read the message out loud.

"It's from Greg, he says there's a been murder,"

"Anything interesting about it?"

"Supernatural related death,"

This seemed to catch his attention. Super power related deaths didn't happen to often, and when it was, it was usually kept from the public. But they were not the public.

"Well," Sherlock grinned,"Let's go,"

And they were off. The taxi ride seemed longer than usual. When they arrived at the crime scene, Greg was waiting for them already. John found himself in a street full of tall apartments, a small quite neighborhood. _Not a place you'd think there would be murder_ , John thought.They ducked under a yellow police tape, and were led to where the body was. A woman, in her mid 40s lay on her side, a pool of blood around her. Her suit and tie were stained red. The woman's dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.

"Suicide," Anderson said, pointing to the top of a building, looking pleased with himself,

"How can you be so impossibly dull," Sherlock said loudly,"Of course it's not suicide. Now leave,"

He made a shooing motion, and Anderson stormed off. Sherlock continued inspecting the body, pausing here and there to look at the scene.

"So what have you got?" Greg asked.

"What was her power?" Sherlock questioned.

It was unexpected. Sherlock never asked questions, and it was even rarer of him to ask for help. But, deductions could get you so far. He didn't know the woman's powers. _Which is vial to find out what happened to her_ , John thought. But Greg did. He had the ability to figure out people's powers. When Greg first saw John, he was surprised that a man could have that sort of power. He had pulled John aside, asking him if he knew about the power he had. John had nodded, begging Greg not to tell anyone about his power. He had agreed. John also had asked Greg muiltiple times about Sherlock's power, but even Greg didn't know.

"She was able to control water,"

Sherlock hesitated, taking in the information,"She was obviously murdered by someone with powers. High powers. The way her hand is positioned- it's as if she was fighting herself. Fighting herself from suicided? No. A person who was about to suicide would have made up their mind earlier. No, she was forced. She was forced to dress this way, so someone must have had contact with her previously and then murdered her. She is dressed to appear as a business woman named Scarlet Stallone who went missing a few weeks ago. She is actually a teacher named Madeline Griffin. She is unmarried, an alcoholic. Had a few boyfriends, but never ended up sticking with them,"

Greg whistled,"You sure?"

"I'm highly sure about this Lestrade, when am I ever wrong?" He huffed,"Come on John, we're off,"

Sherlock practically ran out of the crime scene, and John tried to keep up to him while avoiding all of Donovan's insults. They called a taxi.

"221B please," Sherlock said,"So what do you think?"

"About what?" He replied.

"The body, the crime scene,"

"Oh, uh. Well you were right,"

Sherlock made a face,"Don't be dull. What do you think,"

John sighed,"I do think something odd is going on here. If she could control water, or whatever, why didn't she use it as self defense?"

"Good John, now you're thinking,"

"Also, why was she dressed different? If she was forced to jump, why would she be forced to dress differently?"

"Now you're getting somewhere,"

"I don't think she was forced by a gun, I think it was by a person's powers,"

A silence ensued, before Sherlock spoke,"Good. I'd figured that out the second I heard her powers, but good,"

They made their way up into their flat.


	2. Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been another murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quicker update than usual.

_Blood. Needles. Lights. Cold. M-_

 

John Watson sat up in his bed, gasping. Another nightmare. It had gotten worse, after the pool incident with Moriarty. It was always his fear, that someone would realized his power and take him away. Away from Sherlock, the cases, and the mysterious world he was introduced to the day they met. Atleast, that's what the television said. There had been reports of people with powers. Powers to control the sea, wind, even people. They all had been taken away sometimes by police, other times by scientists in white lab coats. They had been ordinary people too, sometimes a father, sometimes a child even. Child or father, they had all been taken away.

John was pretty sure Sherlock was awake. He was pretty sure he heard him too. Flexing his fingers, he summoned a few flames. They danced across his hand, the orange and red twirling. He watched it for a few seconds, wondering how long ago he did this. He curled his fingers into a fist, and the flames died. _No matter how much I wish_ , John thought, _I can't change it_.

He made is way into the living room, and found Sherlock on his laptop.

"You're up,"

"Yes," He said, making his way to the kitchen,"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing, just looking up files of high power people,"

John stiffened. Even though his file said he was able to survive in dangerous situations longer than normal, he still had a nagging feeling that it said otherwise.

"Tea?" He pulled out two cups.

"Please,"

He poured some water in the cups, letting it steep for a few minutes before giving a cup to Sherlock.

"Are you done with your tea?"

"What?" John nearly choked on his cup.

"I said, are you done?" Sherlock placed the cup down on a table, and it made a hollow clinking sound.

"What? No, I just started. Sherlock, slow down,"

"Don't be late, I'll be waiting outside," He ran out of the flat.

John swallowed the rest of his tea, and hurried downstairs. He found Sherlock and a cab waiting.

"So, where are we going?"

"Crime scene,"

"Crime scene?" He echoed.  
"Murder, supernatural related death,"

"This murderer must be pretty cocky to murder someone the day after the police find the body,"

"Cocky or able,"

They arrived at the scene. The street was littered with trash, police tape standing out among the gray graffitied buildings. Greg waved them over to the body. It was in an brick alleyway with an abandoned shopping cart. A man, homeless by the looks of it, John thought, lay on the ground, face down. His clothes were baggy, and he wore sweatshirt and jeans. But that wasn't all, on the wall in blood, were the words _come and play, 5150601636_

Sherlock went to the words first, inspecting the words, and then the blood. He flipped on his phone, then made is way to the body.

"Uh..if it helps," Greg started,"His power was being able to control light,"

"Same murder as before,"

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Same style. The man was killed by himself. Forced to. He cut his fingers before death, and wrote the messages of the wall. Cause of death: choking. He's thirty two years old, homeless for a few months judging by the amount of items around him," He finished.

"What about the words?"

"The words? Obviously a message. The numbers-," His eyes go wide, and Sherlock claps his hands together.

"John! I'll be gone for a few hours, get some groceries while I'm gone!" He ran down the street, waving a hand to get a cab.

John grumbled to himself. This is the third time he's done this, he thought. He walked past Donovan, and heard her talking to Anderson. Something about Sherlock and getting off on it.  
He ignored them.

Hailing a cab, he thought about picking up groceries, but decided not to. I'll pick up them tommorow. John arrived at 221B,and saw Anthea sitting in a car right infront of the flat. Mycroft, he thought, making his way up the stairs. Indeed, he saw Mycroft sitting on a couch, drinking tea.

"Hello John," He said.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?"

"Has Sherlock accepted any of his clients lately?"

"No, he's focused on police cases,"

"The supernatural ones, I suppose,"

"Yes but, what are you doing her-"

"Are you good John?"

John blinked at the sudden change of conversation,"Yes..I'm fine, bu-"

"Mycroft," A deep voice said from the doorway. John turned, and saw Sherlock standing in the doorframe, glaring at Mycroft.

"Brother dear, care to join us?"

"No, now leave," Sherlock walked over to Mycroft, and said something under his breath.

"Nothing," He got up, and walked to the kitchen, placing the cup of tea on the counter,"Hm...still measuring the degradation of blood? I did that ages ago,"

"Mycroft, those are my experiments," He walked to the kitchen.

"Oh, and that's blood from a hematoma vain, so that's not going to work,"

"Mycroft, leave!" He continued following him.

"I'm just gonna....leave you guys," John says, getting up.

"You can stay John," They say at the same time.

Awkwardly, John sits back down, watching the two brothers fight. Sherlock is following Mycroft around the kitchen, while Mycroft is examining his experiments, making comments every few seconds.

"Mycroft," Sherlock practically growls.

"Sherlock,"

"Leave," Sherlock ushers him to the doorway.

"Really, this childish feud of ours has gone on for quite a while," Mycroft said from the stairs to their flat. He watched Mycroft drive off. He saw Sherlock adjust his experiments. John got up, grabbed his laptop, and started to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my chapters are really short, cause I'm a new writer and I can't help but make it short. Oh, and for future reference, I probably won't update as quickly, but the chapters will be definitely longer. (Don't quote me on that)


	3. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been another murder, and Sherlock can't exactly be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so hope you enjoy this chapter.

Sherlock was pacing around the room. He has been for fifteen minutes while John typed. After Mycroft left, he fixed his experiments and started pacing.  
"Er..sherlock? How long are you going to spend pacing?"

"I'm thinking John, now shut up."

"Sherlock," Came a reproaching voice from the hallway. Mrs. Hudson stuck her head in the flat,"He's only trying to help."

"I'm trying to think Mrs. Hudson, silence would be helpful." Sherlock was pacing faster, and his tall figure almost made it comical.

"Yes well, do try to be nice dear." She left, muttering about her husband.

"Hyde Park." Sherlock said suddenly.

"Sorry?" John looked up from his laptop.

"Hyde Park," He said loudly, throwing his hands up,"Those numbers on the wall-they're coordinates. Coordinates of Hyde park. Oh how could I be so stupid?"

Ding.

John checked his phone. It was a text from Greg.

_Don't let Sherlock get near the crime scene.  
-G.L_

_He looked up at Sherlock, who didn't seem to have heard the text._

_Why?  
-J.W_

_Reasons, just please don't.  
-G.L_

_Fine. Where?  
-J.W_

_Oxford House Apartments. Charlotte Street  
-G.L_

_Okay. W-_

The phone was snatched out of his hands before he could finish. John looked up, and saw Sherlock with his phone in his hands.

"Sherlock! You can just-"

"Yes I can, now here." He handed the phone back.

"You weren't supposed to see that Sherlock!"

"John! I'll meet you at the scene." He grabbed his cost and was out the door in a matter of seconds. The sounds of the door slamming filled the flat.

He sighed, and stood up to get his coat. John was walking to the door, when he felt a pinch on the back of his neck. He reached up to the back of his neck when the room started to blur. _I need to call.....Sherlock_ , He thought. He fumbled, trying to grab his phone. It fell to the floor. John collapsed.

~~~~~

 

Sherlock stepped out of the cab, and analyzed the scene infront of him. Two police cars were parked by the street. Brick buildings lined the road, along with awnings at every window. Hotel, Sherlock thought.

He made his way over to the yellow police tape, ducking under it. A tan arm stopped him.

"Freak, you can't go in there." Donovan crossed her arms.

Sherlock glanced at her,"Move."

"Sorry Sherlock, but she's right. You're not allowed in here."

Greg stepped up next to her, as if to stop Sherlock from entering it.

"What do you mean I'm not allowed in there. Let me in." He took a step forward.

Greg sighed,"You're suspected for the murders, Sherlock. You could be in jail right now, but I convinced them to let you off."

"I'm suspected for the murders?" He echoed loudly,"You need me."

"I'm sure we can manage one case, now please, leave. Or we'll have you arrested."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and left the crime scene. How can they be so stupid, he thought.  
He hailed a cab home. By the time he was back on Baker Street, the street lights were on, and the sky was dark. The streets were filled with headlights and cars driving down the street. He glanced at the flats door. Something about the door. It's off. Not Mycroft, the knocker is still crooked. But someone's been here. He inspected the door knob. Fingerprints; it was John's and his. _Something still off._ He took a magnifying glass out of his pocket.

There was a portion of the knob polished in the shape of a hand. No fingerprints. _Gloves then_. Carefully, he opened the door. Waited. Sherlock stepped in, and quietly made his way up the stairs. Their flat door had the same gloved hands. He looked around the flat. Empty. Scanning the floor, he noticed tiny bits of broken plastic on the ground. Picking the pieces up, he saw that they were phone pieces. _Someone must have cleaned it up some of it after it fell._

_John's?_

Along with the peices, he saw the flat was more orderly than usual. The carpet was straightened, unlike the usual tilt it was in.

_Struggle. Limited. Drugs or quick fight._

Sherlock assessed the situation quickly.

_John must have been just getting up to go to the crime scene when he was attacked. Muiltiple people most likely, and he was most likely drugged. Drugged, must have been going somewhere then, in a a car most likely. Muiltiple people mean someone was paying for them, they wouldn't plan this by themselves. Most likely planned by the same person who murdere-_

Then, he noticed a note on the floor. It read, _come and play_. I need to know the message, Sherlock thought. He pulled out his phone, and texted Greg.

_I need to see the crime scene.  
-S.H_

_A reply came a few seconds later._

_No, I told you that I already got you somewhat off the hook for suspected murder.  
-G.L_

_Please. John's been kidnapped.  
-S.H_

_Is this some made up excuse to see it? No, sherlock.  
-G.L_

_Atleast tell me the message.  
-S.H_

_He paused, the added on to the message._

_Please._

_Minutes later, he got a reply back._

_Fine, here;_

_34/12/14_

_4 days._  
Thank you  
-S.H

 _This is just a game, to the murderer. The sooner I solve this game, the sooner I can find John, he thought._ He started deducing what they numbers could mean.

_Dates, time, coordinates, event, murder..._

~~~~

John's eyes fluttered open to darkness. _Where am I?_ He thought. The last thing he remembered was Sherlock running out of the flat. He blinked. Something was covering his face. He tried to move his hands to take it off, but he found he couldn't. He felt several leather straps across his chest, from the top of his shoulders down to his wrists. His wrists were under him, numb from him laying on them for a indefinite period of time.

"Oh good, you're awake." A voice said, lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing this story. Anyways, woo, 1000 word chapter.  
> If anyone's confused on what John's restraints look like here; 
> 
> http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk41/metanorn/kuroshitsuji/kuroshitsuji01/kuroshitsuji1mkv_001447988.jpg&imgrefurl=http://metanorn.net/2008/10/kuroshitsuji-01-that-butler-so-talented&h=400&w=704&tbnid=y551XNc5PtlWIM:&zoom=1&docid=azuLDqvoqVvjhM&hl=en&ei=gQe_VNbGLcqQyAS5-4L4AQ&tbm=isch&client=safari&ved=0CBwQMygAMAA


	4. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out who kidnaps him and what he has to do. Also, there's been another murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than I expected it to be, 1200 words. Also, this is my first fight scene I've written, so tell me any thing a I can do to improve. Thanks!

"I thought you were going to sleep forever."

He heard shuffling noises, and the sound of a chair pulling closer to him.

"I bet you're wondering who I am," The voice whispered in his ear,"Well, you probably already know."

"Moriarty."

"Well, I su-pose we don't need this anymore." Moriarty sang.

He felt the cloth on his eyes move, and he saw sliver of light. That sliver grew, and John had to blink to get used to the sudden light. He saw he was in a gray colored room, with a bed, table, and two chairs. On one of the chairs, sat Moriarty grinning in a gray business suit. Next to him, a guard stood, with a sniper rifle in hand. John looked down at his restraints and saw leather straps across his chest. His feet weren't bound. _Maybe I ca-_

"You're not thinking about running are you Johnny boy? Before you do, I want to show you something."

He stood up, and stepped out the door. John was hoisted up by the guard. His hands were held behind his back, and he was guided down the hallway behind Moriarty. They came to a room, full of screens. The screens were black, but Moriarty pressed a button and they buzzed to life. He drew a sharp breath. The screens showed videos. Videos of John and Sherlock's flat, presumably live. Each screen had a different angle of different rooms. The kitchen, the living room, the hallway. _Christ_ , John thought, _even my bedroom._ John could see Sherlock pacing around the flat. He took comfort in the thought that Sherlock was probably thinking about where he could be. _Probably._

Moriarty leaned over his shoulder.

"So Johnny, let's make a deal," He said,"I want you to, do me a couple of favors. If you do these...favors I ask of you. Sherlock won't get hurt."

He enunciated these last few words by moving his fingers closer to John's collarbone, making him stiffen.

"And if you don't...well, he might just end up getting _burned._ " His voice was light, but at the word burned, it changed.

He stepped back, silently.

John looked over at the screens. Sherlock had picked up his violin, and was playing it furiously, like he usually did.

"Alright."

~~~

Sherlock's fingers pressed on the strings, his graceful fingers moving quickly. He slid the bow across the strings. He stood by the window, staring out at London.

_34/12/14_

_Four days._

_Hyde Park._

_John._

His phone buzzed. Sherlock stopped playing, placing his violin down on the couch. He looked down at his phone.

_Sherlock there's been another murder,  
we need your help. But don't touch anything._

_-G.L_

_Where?_

_-S.H_

_Arundel Dr, near Oak Farm._

_-G.L_

He closed his phone, stuffing it in his pocket. Sherlock rushed out the door, nearly knocking into Mrs. Hudson. He stepped into the taxi.

"Arundel Drive, corner of Oak Farm. Quickly." He demanded.

The streets of London blurred by quickly. Apartments, houses, offices turned distorted blurs. When he arrived, Greg was already waiting for him.

"Remember Sherlock, you've been excused from the murder, but you still can't touch anythi-"

"Yes, I know Lestrade," He clapped his hands together,"Now, where's the body."

"Here, but Sherlock-" Sherlock ran to the body, ahead of them."Remember!"

When Greg caught up the Sherlock, he was already inspecting the wall. Written in blood, were the words _Johnny boy_. His heart ached when he saw his flatmate's name. It's just some chemical reaction. Ignoring the words, he placed a finger to the blood, and rubbed it between his fingers. _Dead, two hours at most._

"Power?"

"He was able to sense emotions."

He inspected the body. A man, in his late thirties lay on the ground, a bullet wound his stomach. His clothes were stained red. The man's hair was cut short, and he was in a business suit.

"His name is Nicholas Murrish. Businessman, worked in an office for ten years. Unhappy with his job; never got a raise. Unmarried. Nothing significant about him. Murdered by the same person as usu-"

"Why would the bloke kill him though? All the other victims had high ranking powers." Greg interrupted.

"To get the point across. A man, mostly likely not the murderer himself, shot the victim. He was then controlled into writing John in blood. He's toying with us."

"Wait-John? You mean this guy actually has John? Christ, I actually thought you were kidding!"

"I never kid." He turned on his heels, heading towards the main road.

"Wait." Greg grabbed Sherlock's arm, stopping him. He looked down at the detective inspector, and their eyes made contact.

"Do you want any...er, help?"

"I'm fine.." He turned back around, his coat whipping behind him.  
~~~

John was brought to a large room full of targets. His arms were untied, but a chain was placed on each of his legs, disabling him to do anything but walk.

"Leave, Moran," Moriarty commanded, waving him off. The burly guard obliged, leaving Moriarty and John alone.

"Now, Johnny boy, show me what you can do."

"What?"

"Burn them."

"I-"

"I said, _burn_ them," Moriarty stepping closer to him."Remember what I can do."

Tentatively, John summoned some flames. They danced in his hands. Stretching out his arm, the flames kept from his palm. The flames flew from his hands, hitting the targets. The room soon filled with the smell of smoke. Minutes passed, and John watched the orange embers of the wood grow dimmer and dimmer. Eventually, they were out.

"Moran, bring him in."

The door opened, and the guard, which John now knew was named Moran, brought a young man in. He was blindfolded, and his arms and feet were chained together. He was practically getting dragged by Moran. The man stumbled at first, but eventually let himself get dragged infront of John.

The consulting criminal took a step closer to John, and now he was nearly leaning over His shoulder.  
"Now. Burn him." Moriarty whispered in his ear.

He hesitated. This is wrong.

"Is this going to take all day?"

John made his decision: he sprang. He spun around, raising a fist to punch Moriarty. He made contact, and saw Moriarty stagger back. Moran leapt forward, back handing John strong enough for him to stagger back. The chains around his ankles caused him to fall back on the ground. The fall winded John, but he got up anyways when he saw Moran pull back fist to hit him again. The blow didn't come though-they both found themselves frozen. Futilely, he tried to move, but he couldn't. Moran walked back towards Moriarty's side. He felt himself raise his hands to his neck, and start to squeeze.

Moriarty walked towards him, rubbing his jaw. It had started to discolor. _Good_. "Now, now John, that wasn't very nice."

He found it harder to breath. Harder to stay calm.

"I asked you to burn him, now what did you do? Go and punch me."

He started gasping air involuntarily.

"You are going to pay for that Johnny boy," Moriarty grinned, and turned back to Moran, who seemed to be out of his control."Shoot him."

Black dots were starting to crowd his vision. Vagualy, he heard the young man protest, before a loud gunshot resounded in the room. John's vision turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's not dead. I swear.


	5. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals witht the aftermath. Sherlock finds more clues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! My chapters seem to get longer and longer each time.

Waking up from unconsciousness was like swimming. Like swimming in a pool with all your clothes on. And a jacket.

John's eye opened groggily. His head was pounding, and his throat was sore. What happened? He tried to recall what happened, but found he couldn't. Looking around, he saw out that he was lying on a bed, in the room he was in before. He sat up, and noticed his hands were untied, along with his feet. His clothes were changed too; he was wearing a gray sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt.   _Moriarty_. He shut his eyes as memories of the other day flooded his mind.

Burn.

 _Burn_.

 **Burn**.

**_Bur-_ **

"Hey, mate, you okay?" A voice says. John's blinks, and looks up to the source of the voice. A man in his twenties stares at him, his brown eyes worried. His brown hair frames his face, cut at the end of his jaw. He was wearing the same clothes as John. He looked fine, except for a few bruises lingering on his arm.

"Who ar-" He chocked, his throat parched.

"Here." The man handed him a cup water. He drank it quickly.

"Who are you?" He finished.

"The name's Jack. Who are you and what happened to uh...," Jack gestured to his neck."..neck."

"My name is John," Carefully, John touched his neck, examining the sore parts."Is there any chance there's a mirror here?"

"Yeah, right here." He led him over to a mirror, and John found out that there was more to the room original. A small bathroom, complete with a toilet, shower, and sink filled the room. Looking in the mirror, he couldn't help but let a low hiss. A ring of purple and blue bruises decorated his neck.

"When they brought you in, they just sorta dumped you on the ground. I figured you'd be more comfortable on the bed." Jack said, his eyes darting to the bruises.

"Thanks." He turned away from the mirror back to the main room. John took a seat on the bed, and Jack took a seat on a chair. The chair Moriarty sat in the day prior.

"So, how did you end up here? I mean, why did Moriarty pick you up?" John asked.

"Oh well, I was on my way home from the store when I realized I was being followed, I tried to shake them, but I couldn't. They caught up to me, and drugged me. I've been here for," He paused, and then shrugged. "Six months, maybe eight?"

" _Christ_ , six months."

"What about you?"

He hesitated,"Well. I was in my flat when I got drugged. I woke up here and Moriarty was here. He..offered me a deal."

"Then?"

"I said yes. I did what he wanted me to, but then he wanted me to murder someone. I punched him."

Jack blinked."That's totally...badass."

John laughed a hollow laugh, and his cellmate did too.

"Do you know why you're here?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"No..," John started,"But....Moriarty wants to use my powers to murder people."

His eyes widened,"What's your pow-"

He was interrupted by a door slamming open. Moran the guard stood by the door as Moriarty walked in. They immediently stopped talking and stared at their captor.

"So, I see you've met Jack. He's quite simple minded isn't he?" He said this offhandedly,"Today is your payment day, and you're going to pay for yesterday."

He was grabbed by his wrists and led out the door. John caught a glimpse of Jack before he was dragged away. He looked sorry. He was guided back to the room full of cameras. Sherlock was taking notes by his experiments, and he saw Mrs. Hudson downstairs, cleaning her kitchen.

"Now, every time you hurt me," Moriarty threatened. "I will hurt one of them."

When John looked at the screens again, they had changed. They now showed live recordings of Greg, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson. All of them, all of his friends, were going about their daily lives, completely unaware they were recorded.

"Who should we start with first?" He sang. "Dear little Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Stop." John gritted his teeth.

"Stop? Oh no no no Johnny boy, you can't just say stop. You've already done this, and you're going to pay."

Moriarty considered the screens with curiosity, as if he was wondering who to kill next. Which he probably is.

"I know!" He said,"How about we start with that dear detective inspector. That way, I'd be hurting the Ice Man too!"

John watched, anger surging through him, as five masked men with guns invaded Greg Lestrade's flat. He saw Greg raise his his hands in surrender, but they preceded to knock him to the floor. Angrily, he saw his friend get punched and kicked. At first, Greg had started to attack back, but he now laid on the floor unmoving. The five men left the flat quickly, not after writing something on the wall, out of the view of the camera.

~~~

Sherlock ran to the window when he heard the sirens. Something's wrong, he thought. They usually don't turn on the sirens if there's been a murder.

Before anyone got out of the car, Sherlock was already on the pavement.

"What?" He could tell it was an emergency. Down the street, he noticed Mycroft's car parked, and could see his assistant, Anthea, in the back.

"It's Greg. He's been attacked." Donovan said, and Sherlock noticed he had not called him freak this time.

"Where?"

"His flat. I'll drive you." He was surprised by her kindness, but knew it was only because the needed him. Also because Greg was injured. The ride there was silent. Donovan put on the sirens the whole time there, causing taxis and cars to swerve to the left every so often. When they arrived, police tape covered the scene. Greg's apartment was a large complex, home to many people. The floors were open aired, and the doors were a dull brown colour. Sherlock strode into the flat, noticing the obvious signs of use in his apartment. The stairs were old and worn, the doors' paint peeling. When he stepped into the flat, Sherlock already started to read the signs.

 _Four, maybe five people total._  
Little signs of struggle.  
Armed most likely.

There was blood on the floor, staining the dark oak floors. On the wall, written in blood, were the word. _He will die._

 _Hired by the murderer most likely. Moriarty_. _No one else would be able to handle such a feat_.

"Anything?" A voice asked. He looked up, and saw a police officers staring up at him.

"Four, five people total. There was little signs of struggle, the men were most likely armed because of this."

He left out the Moriarty piece. The last thing I want is the police to be involved in this. _They would mess everything u_ p.

The police officer wrote down this quickly. "Anything you need?"

"I need to see Greg."


	6. Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out Jack's powers, and Sherlock deals with the aftermath of the attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry if this chapter is short. (And late), I'm just a bit overwhelmed with school.

After seeing Greg get attacked, John was taken back to his cell. He was thrown back into the room, the door locking loudly. Jack was sitting on the bed, and looked up at John. There was a moment of silence before he talked.

"What happened?"

"Five armed guards met my friend." John said, angrily. He wanted to punch something.

Jack's eyes widened."Uh, you're kind of on fire."

He looked down, and realized, he was summoning fire subconsciously. Unclenching his fist, the flames disappeared. The heat from the flames lingered.

"So...that's your power?" He started awkwardly.

"Yeah...what's yours?" John sat down on the bed next to him.

"Close your eyes and count to twenty five." Jack got up for the bed, and stood in the center of the room. "Don't open them, no matter what."  
He nodded, closing his eyes.

_25_

At first, he heard nothing then, a loud pained scream followed.

_14_

He shut his eyes more. Loud breathing.

_8_

A low growl ripped through the room, and he couldn't help himself. John opened his eyes.

A gray and brown wolf, the size of half the bed, stood in the middle of the room. The wolf's paws were the size of John's hand, and it's claws were the length of his index finger. It's eyes were a dark mahogany color. It's long teeth were bared, and it's legs were spread wide. He pressed himself against the wall, staring at the growling wolf. The wolf shook it's head, and stopped baring its teeth.

"...Jack?"

The wolf glanced up at him, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

"Christ..Jack." He reached his hand out to the wolf, slowly. It rubbed its head against him. The wolf ran around the room, as if it were demonstrating its strength. There wasn't a lot of room in their cell though. Periodically, it would bump into the chairs, knocking them over.

Bang.

The door slammed open, and Moran stood leaning against the doorway. John glanced over to Jack, and caught him changing. Fur was replaced with skin, and shoulder blades grew smaller. The frame grew thinner too, and the wolf's leathery paws dissapeared. Jack started coughing furiously. John started over to him, but a red dot appeared on his chest. Helplessly, he watched as he coughed up blood, each cough producing a sickening sound.

"Get up you two. Boss wants to see you."

Slowly, Jack got up, along with John who followed him. Moran forced them infront of him, and in the hallway he was soon joined by another guard. He was led down the hallway, into a unmarked room. The room was slightly bigger than their cell, and hardly furnished. The only thing in the room was two tables, with two animals on them. John realized they were labradors, chained to the top of each table.

"Hi Johnny boy." A voice said, causing the two prisoners to jump. Moriarty stood a few feet from the tables, and started to walk towards them.

"I want you to burn them." He said this casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

"No." John said stubbornly.

"No? I might just put Jack on the table then." Moriarty laughed, then stopped suddenly.

"BURN THEM." He shouted, his command echoing through the room.

"No. I won't."

"Do we really have to go through this again Johnny? I ask you to burn something, you say no and try to attack me, I send my men on your friends. Rather tedious, isn't it?"

A scream sliced through the air. Jack through himself against the wall, hitting his head.

"Stop!" John yelled. "Please."

Jack collapsed on the floor with a soft thump. John's flames crackled, and he send a pillar of fire towards the tables. The cries and whines of the dogs stayed in his head.

~~~

By the time Sherlock reached the hospital, the public had already gotten word of the attack. Some reports stood outside, along with a camera crew. Ignoring them, he strode through the front doors.

"I'm visiting Greg Lestrade." He told the receptionist. "Where is he?"

"Second floor. Room 9."

He navigated his way to the room, and found Greg awake in the hospital bed. He had a broken leg, and a few broken ribs judging by his breathing, but otherwise he looked fine.

"Hello Lestrade." He pulled a spare chair up to the bed.

"Hello Sherlock." Greg said.

"Tell me."

"Haven't you heard already? I told Anderson about it."

"Yes well Anderson's an idiot and I can't work with those."

He sighed. "I was in my flat. Five men stormed my flat with guns, and started beating me."

Footsteps approached the doorway, and the two men turned to look. Mycroft stood in the door way, glancing at them reproachfully.

"You really shouldn't interrogate him just yet Sherlock." He said, looking over Greg.

"Since when do you care?" Sherlock took a step closer to the elder brother.

"Shouldn't you be caring?" He retorted calmly."Your doctor is missing."

"As if I don't know that." The consulting detective spat. "What have you been doing these past days Mycroft? Snogging him?"

He looked over to Greg, who appeared very uncomfortable with this situation.

"Don't be childish." He turned away from Sherlock. "It really doesn't suit you."

"I don't need to be lectured Mycroft." He said disdainfully, turning on his heels out the door.

Scowling, he returned home, hailing a cab. Mrs. Hudson was gone for a a few days, giving Sherlock the time to think. He slouched himself on the couch, closing his eyes.

_Hyde Park._

_34/12/14_

_Johnny boy_

_He will die._

_It was simple really. Meet at Hyde Park in four days._  
Well, one day now.  
John will be there. He will die if I don't come.  
Moriarty will be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there's any mistakes. Oh, and if anyone's confused about the last party, Sherlock is kinda arguing with himself.


	7. Invincible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, yeah, I updated.

The dogs had gone silent now. John clenched his fists. A pool of blood stained the floor. Moriarty caught him looking at Jack.

"Poor poor Johnny boy. How many times will it take for him to realize that I own him." He mocked."How many times John?"

He stood silent, cleaning his fists in anger. The medic in him knew that Jack was dead, but he still wanted to see if somehow he was alive. The blood had stopped now, and John could feel the blood soaking his feet. Swinging his arm foward, he aimed for the consulting criminals face. Moriarty sidestepped. A large fist grabbed his wrist, and he could feels it's grip tightening. He knew that bones couldn't be crushed by a hand, but it felt like it. He tried to twist out of the sniper's grip, but to no avail.

"How many times will it take," He was serious now, and his voice was low. "How many times will it take, John, for you to know that you are mine. I. Own. You."

"You don't own me." John spat.

"Not yet, anyways," Moriarty waved a hand in a shooing gesture."Sebastian take him to get ready for our little meeting."

The guard complied, letting go of John's wrists, but grabbing both wrists and leading him down a lengthy hall. Surely someone could notice this large of a building. They stopped at a door near his cell, and he was shoved in. The first thought that ran through of his head was how could a criminal afford this. He found himself in a large decorated bathroom, complete with a tub, which John thought, was more like a small pool. The room's gold trim was completed with a marble flooring. Moran must have seen John's look, for he smirked.

"He's a consulting criminal, the job pays well."

Moran pulled a light gray jumper from a drawer, along with blue jeans. He shoved them into his hands.

"Change into these." Moran commanded.

He looked down at the clothes, and realized they were the clothes he had been wearing the day he was taken. He waited for the sniper to leave the room, but after a few awkward moments, John realized he wasn't going to.

"Could you, uh..turn around?" he asked awkwardly.

"No."

He huffed, and turned away from Moran, facing the wall. It would atleast spare him some privacy. He had barely gotten finished dressing when he felt a sharp pinch in the back of his neck. Not again. He vagualy felt himself falling, and he found himself unable to move his arms to stop his fall. In fact, he was unable to move any of his limbs, let alone turn his head. All he could do was blink. He was staring at the side of the tub, he felt himself being picked up. John's head turned to the side, and he caught a glimpse of Moran's arm.

Moran took a cloth, wrapping it around his eyes. With his vision black, his other senses were enhanced. He felt a warm sensation, and realized this was sunlight. He heard the faint sound of a car, before he felt himself topple in one. Moran took off the blindfold, and propped him up into a seating position in the middle. John's head rolled to his right shoulder. From his position, he could see the windows were tinted black. He felt someone move to the right of him, and could feel its stare.

"So Johnny boy, you must be wondering what we're doing," Moriarty said to his right. "W-ell, I'm not going to tell you what we're going to do, but I will tell you one thing."

He felt the consulting criminal move closer to him.

"The drug that's in your veins right now, " A tap on his neck. "It's my own, I made it myself."

John could practically feel the criminal's grin.

"It's just easier this way, really. You can't do anything to stop me," Moriarty voice dropped to a whisper. "I, Own, You, Johnny boy."

He pulled away from him, leaving the car in total silence. The ride there was long, and it was dark by the time they had stopped. At least, John thinks it's night; the tinted windows barely give any clue, except for a slight difference in color.

He was blindfolded again, he heard the crunching of gravel beneath Moran's feet.  
Park.  
Moran lay him down on the floor undoing his blindfold,and he realized this was Hyde park. Then, he felt Moriarty's control lurk over him. It was a small thing to notice, but he could definitely feel it. Last time, he was too focused on ripping out Moriarty's head to feel his presence creep up on him. It was on odd feeling. His limbs started to feel like muiltiple hands gripped his arm, and then nothing. It started at his arms, then traveled to his limbs, and eventually covered his whole body. Then, they all dissapeared.

John stood up against his on control. His arm reached out, and he felt himself summon flames. They were not exactly like his however; these flames were darker and bolder. He saw a figure step out of the darkness. Sherlock. The man looked his usual self; his black trenchcoat, pants, everything.

"Moriarty." Sherlock said, looking behind John.

"Sherlock, so glad you could come. You should thank Johnny boy too," Moriarty grinned to himself. "Though, he really insisted on coming."

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John. It stayed glued on him for a couple of seconds.

"What have you done to him?" The consulting detective said suddenly.

Moriarty feigned hurt. "Why, I've done nothing to your doctor."

Sherlock stepped closer,"What have you done?"

"Oh no no no no, bad move Sherlock. Even your John agrees with me."

He looked down at his hand, and saw Moriarty's dark flames. Sherlock's eyes widened, but he didn't take a step back.

"So, your power is controlling people," He said. "Rather suits you, I suppose."

"I'd hope it does...after all, I worked so hard to get it." He grinned.

John saw Sherlock freeze. His mind was racing too; wasn't everyone born with their power?

"Oh, was I not supposed to tell you that?" Moriarty feigned concern. He grinned. "Oh well."

John heard footsteps behind him, coming closer. He could practically feel the consulting criminal behind him.

"W-ell, this conversations getting rather boring Sherlock. I better be off."

Several different things happened. One, John's flames lept to the nearby shrubbery, right near Sherlock. Two, the consulting detective just stood there, even though the flames were dangerously close to him. Three, Moriarty turned and walked away.

Then, something very peculiar happened.

Sherlock let the flames catch him on fire. By this time, John was free of Moriarty's control, and hefell to the floor, the drug starting to wear out.

Pulling himself up, John made his way towards Sherlock. His black trenchcoat was the only thing visible beneath the flames.

"J-John." Other baritone voice choked out.

"No, Sherlock stop talking, I need to put you out." Helplessly, he tried to find a way to put his friend out. Moriarty's flames seemed to never stop burning.

"John, John. I need you too back away."

"No. Sherlock, you're stuck burning. You're in pain." John couldn't find a way to put his friend out.

"John, do I look like I'm in pain."

"You're in shock Sherlock." He ignored him.

"JOHN!" He yelled. "Really, take a look at me. Do I look like I'm in pain?"

The army doctor looked him over. He was standing up, looking like he was enjoying a casual stroll in the park. The flames didn't seem to bother him, except for the smoke. Sherlock grinned at him.

"Christ, Sherlock-how?"

"My power, I'm invincible." He grinned.

"You're invincible?"

"How do you think I survive all those crime chases?"

The police and the ambulance found them talking quietly to themselves on the gravel of Hyde park. It was an odd sight. A tall man burning, but not, and a shorter man sitting next to him, covered in dirt, but otherwise fine. Greg gave them _Are you freaking kidding me_ look when he saw them. Several minutes later, they were at the hospital giving a report on their past couple days. By then, Sherlock was put out. The doctors insisted that he should stay in the hospital for the next few days due to the smoke of the flames. The only injuries John had received were a few broken ribs and a few dark bruises on his body. He was able to return home sooner than his flatemate.

It turns out it wasn't until a week after the John's rescue that the consulting detective was finally able to return home. He had been organizing the kitchen when he heard the door slam open. He jumped; his kidnap was still fresh in his mind. Turning his head, he saw a familiar black trenchcoat.

"There's another case, John!" Sherlock turned, heading out the door.

"Sherlock! You just came back from the hospital!" He headed towards the door, and caught him on the landing.

"The game is on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of making this a series. There are some parts in this fic that haven't been answered. Should I, comment below!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please comment/review.
> 
> Contact me: (to send a prompt or just ask questions)
> 
> Instagram: Dm me on tumblr because for it or just message me there.
> 
> Tumblr: of-titles-and-names


End file.
